End
by Jem Kallop
Summary: "I will take care of you, Marik." Your arms remain tight around me. "Always." I am cold and frozen in your hold. The sun beams straight through me, pinning me to the ground, keeping me trapped when all I want is to run. Belatedly, I realise that I don't want to be here. I don't want to be stuck in this mess of destruction and loss. I want to go home. Thiefshipping, sort of.


**So I don't know what on earth I've just written. XD I guess it would be called thiefshipping? Mostly it's just sad, though. I don't know what it is. I read the prompt, listened to the song, and was hit with an onslaught of emotion, and this happened. It doesn't help that it's very late at night, either ^_^ Still, I hope it's ok! - Jem**

**Warnings: character death, bad language, extreme LACK of fluff**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or these characters, Kazuki Takahashi does!**

Prompt: "Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.

Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.

Speak no feeling, no I don't believe you.

You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit." Imogen Heap- Hide and Seek **[Sent by Confusedrambler]**

End

The plane isn't fast enough. Scenes flash past the windows far slower than the images rushing through my mind, thoughts racing too quickly to comprehend. I don't understand. Everything is a big mess and I can't separate what's real and what's fake. One thought that sticks out is how you lied.

My head is too full. It is painful. Jagged thoughts, sharp as spikes, rebound in my skull and shake up any sense of coherence I might have once had. The plane tilts and I'm not quite sure if I'm upright or seeing upside down; the world is swimming and I can't keep up with it. Nothing makes sense anymore.  
I know you are still beside me but I can't sense you. Those words can't leave my head. They echo painfully, flashing behind my lids, intense with colour and red and burning. Singed paper enters my nostrils; that note you burned, to hide it from me.

I don't understand.

An orange glow flashes in front of me, blurred and doubled, and something crackles over my head. The grainy voice of the pilot announces something I can't hear, something I don't care about. I just need to be there. My eyes are wide, my limbs trembling, but I can't feel anything. Not the stained leather of the seat beneath me, not the hard wood of the arms that my nails dig into, nothing, until your whisper in my ear.

"Marik."

My name from your lips. I've heard it in a thousand situations, but it has never felt so insincere.

Pale hands flutter across my lap, pulling something tight around me. "The seatbelt," you explain. "We're landing." The words mean nothing to me as I stare into nothing, fists clenched, eyes unseeing. Headline scraps fly past my blinkered vision, words you never let me read, images hidden for too long that I only now begin to understand. Burning fills my nostrils again, flames licking at the skin of my arms. Can you not see it? Do you not sense that terror, that remembered danger?

The plane judders and a shriek escapes my lips. There is a huge jolt. My nails dig into the wood, leaving deep gashes, until my hands are caught in your slender ones. You squeeze them, trying to pull my attention to you. Can't you see I have nothing to say to you now?

"We're here," you say, your voice as calm and dark as ever. Can nothing move you from your impassive cool self? The world has crumbled but here you sit, removed and isolated as ever. Icy glacier to my waterfall, cool settle of snow to my forest fire. You have ever been distant, but until this I didn't realise quite how much.

People are moving around us. I sit frozen, head trembling on my shoulders, hands shaking as they grip yours tightly. You release one to lift a palm to my burning cheek, turning my gaze to meet yours. Your brown eyes hide everything.

"Marik. We have to move."

I merely stare at you blankly.

You make no comment, instead simply moving both your hands to my waist again. Something clicks and I am free but I still don't stand, training my eyes on you instead. What do we do now? We are here because of you, don't you think you should be taking the lead.

"Marik. You're in the aisle seat. You need to move."

You say words but they fall on deaf ears, not making their way through the fuzz of fog in my brain. I blink harshly, give my head a quick shake. Images rattle in my skull and I'm almost afraid they'll fall out of my ear, but you catch me. Pale hands on tan shoulders, I've never truly appreciated the contrasts in our skin tones before.

You bring your lips right to my ear and oh, this must be serious, because you're using _that_ tone of voice. "Marik." Why do you keep using my name? "You need to stand."

I blink. Something shoots through to my legs and I am upright, limbs stiff and immobile until you touch my elbow and gently guide me out into the aisle. Hot air hits me and I realise we are through the door. Sand meets my sandals, itching at the soles of my feet, but it is wonderfully familiar and throws me back to many days of my childhood. You must remember this, too. Sun streaks against my skin but it feels out of place. Egypt. That word flashes through the images in my skull, half remembered headlines, _catastrophe, natural disaster, _broken fragments of pictures that don't make sense. And burning. Always the smell of burning.

You are still holding my elbow; my rock, my guide. I lean on you gratefully in the searing heat, my eyes closing until the images become unbearable and I force them open again. Everything is too bright.

White flashes through my skull, a glare darkened only by the black of your coat as you take it off and drape it around my shoulders. "You're shivering." Your words are as clear as vivid water, your arm surprisingly cool as you wrap it around my waist, drawing me into your side. I dimly remember that I belong here. I fought to be with you, to leave this place. Is that why you hid it from me?

The air cools when we enter the building. People are everywhere, crowds of raggedy dolls with big eyes and traumatised skulls watching with the same dead gaze that covers my own features. Unconsciously, I edge closer to you. You have always been my shield, the one I hide behind, the one I use. When did you stop working? When did damage get through to me, regardless of what you can do?

When did you become the one to hurt me?

Your breath is cool as it hits my neck, your familiar scent calming the burning and damp and toxic waste of the once-city around us. You pull your coat tighter around my trembling frame. Your hands land on my arms, turning me to face you as we halt, your brown eyes meeting mine. Your lips move but I don't catch the words.

You sigh, impatient. Your nails dig into my arms and I try harder, searching through the flashes and sparks and objects filling my mind as I try to find my ears. This time, your words come through.

"Stay here. I'll sort this out." What's to sort out? Everything has happened already. We shouldn't even have come here, it's too late and too bright and my head hurts. I can't find myself amongst the confusion and burning and loss. There is a huge hole in my chest - can't you see it?

Your nails dig into my flesh for another half a second before you turn and walk away. I stand, tunnel vision seeing just your white hair bob away from me, in a sack of black puppets that leer at me. I stand immobile, lost in a crowd. I'm just a dot. Strange, I always fought to be so much more, but here I am, just a dot in a crowd of dots. Maybe if you stand high enough above us, we will create a mosaic of destruction and loss and terror and panic. Whiteness pervades everything.

My vision blurs and doubles again, cold wetness sliding down my cheeks. Darkness flickers at the edge of my skull and I can smell the burning again, teasing at my nostrils. Words flash through my skull. Everything is a mess and I don't understand what's happening. The world tilts around me, spinning through a haze of fog and shouts and scrapes and jagged edges. My body sways and I let it, feeling something real again, until pale hands catch me again and lift me up and that's your voice in my ear. "Marik. Stop." Your tone is remonstrating but I can't see you well enough to glare. There is still sticky cold on my cheeks.

Your arms latch around my shoulders and my head is in a familiar chest. I know this feeling. You have held me many times, but usually I hold you back, our bodies matching in a way I like. I can't find my arms, or I would hug palm meets my cheek again, your thumb soft on my skin. You speak. "We have to go now. I know where they are."

Who? _They_? There are too many of _them_ here now. This once-city is a mess of broken bodies and buildings and burned paper in my vision. What am I supposed to do?

I narrow my blurry eyes enough to realise that you are frowning at me. You tug at my elbow and I follow robotically, my body feeling like it belongs to someone else. There is a strange rushing in my ears. You push me into a seat, kneeling before me with your hands on my shoulders, and this must be serious because you are using _that_ tone again.

"Marik, you have to understand what we are doing here. You remember what I told you? Just before we got on the flight?"

Remember? How could I forget? It's the reason we're here. You hid it from me but badly because I found out anyway. Were you ever going to tell me yourself?  
Your fingers tighten in my shoulders. "Listen. I'm going to take you to your siblings and you have to identify them. They ... Marik, you know they didn't survive."

I don't blink as I stare glassy-eyed into you. Of course I know. You tried to hide it.

"Marik, do you understand?" You give me a small shake. I rattle. Your brown eyes flicker and I almost think there is emotion in your expression, but it is too ridiculous an idea and I can't stop my lips curving into a smile. You grow more agitated at that. I shake again and the black coat slips from around my shoulders, sliding down my back.

A shadow moves behind you. A new voice, one I don't recognise, echoes down from somewhere far above. A hand lands on your shoulder but instead of brushing it away you turn, speaking to someone other than me. "I don't know what to do. He hadn't said a word since last night." Distant flecks of the conversation spatter down on me like some twisted form of rain, words like _trauma_ and _broken_ and _fear_ and _shock_ echoing through my head, but I pay them no heed. I prefer to retreat into my blackness, and the smell of burning.  
You return to me, hands back on my shoulders but more insistent this time. You lift me up and I blink down at you, once again marvelling at how I am taller than you. You have never liked that. I recall your petulant smirk and a smile breaks past my lips again.

You sigh. "Marik, come with me." Your hand grips mine as you lead me on again, out of the beautifully cool building and into bright sunlight and dazzling white. Buildings are flat around us, crumpled to the floor like burning paper. It is eerily silent, the air thick and heavy to walk through. It pulls at my skull. You ignore my silent attempts to stop, leading me on regardless of how many times I dig my heels in, how often I try to twist away from you. I don't want to be here. Sickening dread flows through my veins and I am sure that if you cut me open I will bleed black blood. Stained with memories. And burning paper.

Nevertheless, you pull me on. A city I grew up in, a city of my childhood, disappeared into bits of rubble and broken pavements and dusty, endless miles of sandy road. I don't recognise anything. Surely I have walked these roads a thousand times? Why don't I recognise anything?

Your grip tightens around my fingers. I blink, trying to see through the white that still clouds my head. There is a tent in front of us, hurriedly constructed for a grim purpose. White material flaps in the wind and shouldn't it be black, considering what it is used for? The white just adds to the dazzling in my skull. I can't see through it.

You stop outside the tent and turn to me one last time. "Marik, we have to go in now. Do you understand? Do you know what's happening?"

I blink at you.

Your fingers tighten on my hand but you turn your back again, leading me onwards. I follow you with stumbling footsteps, my legs numb. The tent is boiling but it is shaded, the air different, cloyingly close and overpoweringly scented. I try and swallow some of it but it sticks in my throat. I cough.

You turn to me, coming close again, but I don't respond. Your hand is on my cheek again before you turn and point. "They're there." You let go of my hand and simply stand beside me, but as soon as I can no longer feel your fingers in mine I am floating again. Sharp white digs into my eyes.

Another person is here. They are in white and hold a clipboard, moving into my line of sight and speaking with clear words that fall straight past my ears. I hear you answer for me. "Yes, he's Marik Ishtar. He's here for his siblings." The new person nods and steps aside and it seems I am meant to move forwards now. There is empty space in front of me, leading to a table with two mounds on it.

Odion reminds me of a patchwork quilt. His skin is split and laced with cherry red scars, jagged gashes that decorate his usually immaculate clothing. His braid has come undone, black hair falling around his tattoo in a mess of tangled matts. He looks younger. I barely recognise him.

The only thing I see of Ishizu is her black hair and gold bands. Her white robe is stained and torn, ripped, her body twisted into a form I don't recognise, but that is her hair. She lies by Odion, his arms around her, protecting her even at the end. Between them, I fancy, is space for me. I should be with them.

No life stirs in their cold, dead forms. They are mere shadows of themselves, echoes of memories that only I hold now. I'm the only one who knows what the three of us have come through. Somehow, I believed that we would always be impregnable; a trio of Ishtars to take on the world, despite where we come from or what we have seen and done. My protector and my carer, my guide and my sense, my brother and my sister. They lie broken and gone. I am alone.

Breath catches in my throat and there is sticky wetness on my cheeks again. A droplet of water lands on my wrist and I stare at it, a matching one landing on my other arm. Carefully, I extend both my hands over both of my siblings' dead bodies, tilting my wrists gently and watching as the water drops to land on each of them. A tear for both my siblings.

They don't respond.

There is a rustle of movement behind me. White flickers in my vision again and the person reappears, speaking. Your voice is the only thing I hear. "It's them. Odion and Ishizu Ishtar. His siblings." The person in white speaks again. I hear your answer; quiet and dense. "Yes, they were his only family."

I continue to watch them. They are still on the table, locked forever in their twisted ways, balanced and taken and away from me. Images spit through my head again. Burning fills my nostrils.

You are behind me. Pale fingers grasp my wrist and turn me but my head stays still, my gaze locked on their bodies. Your palm on my cheek again, gently turning my head. I see you. I frown. Are you dead too?

You speak. "We have to to now." Your thumb wipes the wetness off my cheeks. I can see your pulse flickering at your neck so you must be living. Or I am dead, too. Everything gets confused in this hellish tent.

We are outside again before I remember moving. Heat and light and bright, bright whiteness hits me full on and I blink furiously, trying to clear my vision. Everything is too sharp now, too focused. I can't escape.

Your burning brown eyes meet mine and I can smell burning paper. You tried to hide this from me. We got a letter, addressed to ME, saying what had happened but you burned it and hid it from me. How could you do that? I trusted you! It didn't even work. All I had to do was turn on the news and there it was, plain as day, freak hurricane in Egypt destroys thousands and takes lives. It was all over the papers. Their names were listed with the dead. Did you think you could protect me from all of that? Or were you just jealous, not wanting me to return here in case I remembered my life before you too fondly? How could you deny me this?

Your expression changes and I wonder if you have caught onto my thoughts. Your arms wrap around me and you pull me close, the smell of your clothes surrounding me. Your black coat is still around my shoulders. You speak, your breath tickling my neck. "You ... You know I'm still here for you. Don't you? That I'd never leave you."

It occurs to me that you have never committed to me before.

"Marik, I just ... I wish you would just fucking talk to me." Now your tone is closer to what I expect from you. "You're scaring me. You have never been this quiet and I don't have a fucking clue what is going on in that head of yours. Would you ... Would you just fucking talk to me already?"

I don't know what you want me to say. You tried to hide this from me. I have no words, anyway - there are too many in my skull already, I don't know how to order them or what to make sense of first. But your arms around me feel nice so I return them. I nuzzle into your shoulder.

I feel you stiffen slightly before relaxing, holding me tighter. Your voice sounds in my hair. "I just, I mean, I'm here for you. You know that?"

How can I know that? You hid it from me. Why would you do that? It occurs to me that this is a question I should ask you - an important one. One I deserve the answer to. Now I just have to find my voice...

"I love you, Marik."

Now, that brings me up short. Why are you saying that now? It doesn't fit this mess of twisted buildings and forgotten lives, memories ruined forever that still dance in the back of my skull.

"I knew I shouldn't have brought you here. I knew it would be too painful." Your voice cracks and I am amazed. "It's too much for you. We should have stayed at home, safe, where I could look after you. This country has always been too painful for you."

So I'm too weak to cope now? Is that all you really think of me? A weak little stick who can't take care of myself. Well, I'm proving you right. I don't even know how to speak anymore.

"I will take care of you, Marik." Your arms remain tight around me. "Always."

I am cold and frozen in your hold. The sun beams straight through me, pinning me to the ground, keeping me trapped when all I want is to run. Belatedly, I realise that I don't want to be here. I don't want to be stuck in this mess of destruction and loss. I want to go home.

Home is where I stand. A city lost, a tomb crumbled. My siblings, dead. You, a betrayer. Me, alone.

You step back slowly, your hands cupping my cheeks. Your gaze sears into me and I finally find my voice, knowing I need to ask you this. "Bakura."

Your eyes widen in something akin to relief. Your voice is unchanged. "Yes, Marik?"

"Why did you try and hide it?"

You stare at me and I think this isn't what you were expecting me to say. They are the only words I can find. Everything else is a mess.

You lick your lips before speaking. "I only meant well. I didn't want you to lose control."

I stare at you.

"Marik, if you'd read that letter you'd have completely flipped out." Your tone is sterner now. "I was going to break it to you myself, at a time I thought suitable, but you found out anyway and I'm left picking up the pieces. If I'd told you myself, in my own time, this would be much easier."

How could it be easier? My siblings are dead. Nothing you could do would make this easier.

You sigh and pull me close again. "We are here now. It's done. It doesn't matter how you found out."

Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that you hid it from me? That my siblings are gone? That I'm the only Ishtar left, the only one who remembers, the one left abandoned and confused and out of control? Who are you to tell me that?

Your lips move again but I can't hear over the roaring in my ears. Images flash in my head again, painting the newspaper stories you failed to tell me. Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.

"I'm so sorry, Marik."

Speak no feeling, no, I don't believe you. You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit. The words sound so insincere from your lips and it strikes me that you didn't even like my siblings. You couldn't care less that they are gone.

You turn to go but I suddenly pull out of your grip. You turn to me with a furrowed brow, your brown gaze quizzical, but there is fire in my eyes now. I find my voice again and use it as a weapon.

"I'm not going with you."

You stare. "Marik?"

I shake my head furiously. I can't stay with you now. My siblings need me. I can't leave them yet, I can't abandon them the way they abandoned me. I find the strength to turn by myself, moving straight back towards the tent, knowing I can't go like this. My mind is suddenly razor sharp and I know I have to go back to them. They are the closest thing to home I have. I cannot lose them.

You are by my side again, as I somehow knew you would be. Your fingers lace with mine as you keep pace with me, your voice low and cool in the searing desert heat. "Where are we going, Marik?"

This is one question I know the answer to. I don't hesitate as I speak, though I tighten my grip on your fingers.

"Home. I'm going home."


End file.
